


Taken On Trust

by Corellias_Dream



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Friendship, Isolation, Light Bondage, M/M, Trust is Important, touch is good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corellias_Dream/pseuds/Corellias_Dream
Summary: Wedge is delighted when Tycho returns after his imprisonment in Lusankya, but he is also worried. Everywhere Tycho goes, he is watched by security, and is followed by whispers of 'brainwashed' and 'spy'. Tycho has withdrawn behind walls he built during his imprisonment. Wedge is anxious to do what he can for his friend, wanting to free him from his mental torture before it becomes too much.Wedge devises a plan to help Tycho to break the mental walls, but it's risky. If he gets it wrong, Tycho could be in a worse state than before. But no one else seems to care about Tycho's suffering.
Relationships: Wedge Antilles/Tycho Celchu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fits with my Playtime stories, but is not playful.

Wedge Antilles forced himself to take a deep breath. Shouting at General Salm wouldn’t help, and neither would punching the stocky officer. Instead, he glanced across at Tycho Celchu, standing at formal attention in the presence of General Salm and Admiral Ackbar. Tycho was the tallest and most physically imposing of the three humans present; his fine, aristocratic face was still and emotionless as he gazed across Ackbar’s office. He looked like a recruiting poster for starfighter pilots, though in the black flight suit he preferred, he looked like the ideal model for the Imperial Navy, rather than the newly created New Republic.

_And right now is not a good time for Tycho to look like an Imp._

Only a closer look at Tycho’s crystal blue eyes revealed anything of the mental scars he carried following the months of imprisonment and torture at Lusankya and Akrit’tar. On his return, the Alliance had held him for two months of debriefing and only now, after a wait of a few weeks, had Wedge been able to arrange for Tycho to join him here on Folor.

“Captain Celchu cannot be trusted !” General Salm repeated, raising his hands to emphasise his point. “He shouldn’t be here; he should be locked up.”

“He’s been locked up for months,” Wedge snapped, glaring at Salm. “He’s been debriefed from here to the Outer Regions and back and no one’s uncovered any proof that he’s been brainwashed.”

“The other Lusankya sleeper agents showed no signs either,” Salm replied.

“Because they didn’t remember they’d been in Lusankya, so no one asked them about it before they acted. Tycho knows he was there, so Intelligence asked him about it but couldn’t find any indication of brainwashing. Which you want to show is proof that he was brainwashed. You’re taking the absence of proof to be proof itself !”

Wedge stopped there and took another deep breath, forcing himself to unclench his fists. Tycho stood as still and apparently calm as before but Wedge could see the tightening of the muscles in his face that betrayed his inner tension.

“Gentlemen.” Ackbar’s gravelly voice broke the tense silence. He swivelled his eyes so he could see Wedge and Salm at the same time without needing to move his head. “This argument is getting no futher. If I want to listen to circular, unfulfilling disagreements, I can attend a Provisional Council meeting.” He paused for a moment, then turned to Tycho. “Captain Celchu, what do you have to say in the matter ?”

Tycho faced the admiral, still braced in his formal pose.

“Sir, you know my history and you know why I chose to join the Rebellion.What happened to me at Lusankya and Akrit’tar has only strengthened my desire to bring down an Empire that relies on cruelty and fear to control its subjects. I want to serve the Rebellion – the New Republic – in whatever way I can.”

Tycho’s voice and face were tightly controlled as he spoke, betraying nothing of his feelings other than the fact that he was concealing them. It was a non-expression that Wedge was seeing more and more often in the weeks since Tycho’s release from rehabilitation. It was this kind of situation, the continous suspicion and distrust that was doing it. Anger, fuelled by frustration and a sense of injustice, burned in Wedge with each new obstacle put in the way of Tycho’s attempts to return to his normal life.

_I don’t know how he can stand it !_

Wedge bit on his lower lip as he looked at his friend.

“You understand why we must be cautious ?” Admiral Ackar asked, swivelling one amber eye to look at Wedge.

Tycho nodded once, sharply. After a moment, Wedge nodded as well.

“There’s a difference between being cautious and being paranoid,” Wedge said. “You know that Tycho is an outstanding pilot and a fine officer. It would be a waste not to use the abilities he offers us.”

“You’d better just hope that he doesn’t use those fine piloting skills to vape you during a training exercise,” Salm said. “That would deny us your talents too, Commander Antilles,”

In spite of himself, Wedge bristled at the remark, turning his head to glare at the other officer. Admiral Ackbar intervened again, holding up his large hands in a gesture of peace.

“There is no question of Captain Celchu being allowed to fly a fighter in the near future,” he announced. Before Wedge could speak, he continued. “We will, however, find some way of allowing Captain Celchu to stay and work on Folor Base in a position where he poses minimal risk. We are civilized beings, and we will work out an acceptable compromise, gentlemen.”

Wedge took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Wedge managed not to scowl at the woman in the Alliance Security uniform as he walked into the officer’s gym and found her waiting against the wall inside. The officer was one of those assigned to watch Tycho, which wasn’t her fault. She was merely following her orders. Everywhere Tycho went on the base, he had to be accompanied by a security officer, or another officer like Wedge. The supervision only left off when he was in his own rooms and Tycho had to arrange for an escort whenever he wanted to leave them. Every visit to the canteen or gym was watched, and places like the hangars and flight sim rooms were strictly out of bounds.

Tycho was already on a resistance machine when Wedge entered. Wedge greeted his friend as he got on a treadmill to warm up a little before he started on his stretches. Tycho answered briefly, concentrating on the smooth flow of his movements. Wedge set his machine for a brisk walking pace, finding his own rhythm, and looked over at his friend.

“You didn’t come to the officer’s mess last night,” Wedge said casually.

“Didn’t feel like it,” Tycho answered.

“You missed a good game of sabacc.” Wedge told him all about the game. “Aril thought she was going to take a hand with a pure sabacc,” he finished. “Then the randomizer kicked in and I got an Idiot’s Array and won both the hand pot and the sabacc pot. She swore at me in five languages, and well enough to blister paint in all of them.”

Tycho’s face lightened for a moment. “I wish I’d heard that.”

“Come out tonight,” Wedge suggested.

Tycho paused for a few moments between sets of repetitions. “I should,” he said quietly. His gaze wandered to the far side of the gym where the security officer was sitting. “Maybe.” He clicked the machine’s resistance up a couple of steps and started his leg presses again, driving himself harder.

Wedge finished his warm up and got off the treadmill. He moved to an open space and began a series of stretches. As he went through the slow lunges and bends, he kept a surreptitious eye on Tycho. He knew Tycho’s usual exercise routine as well as he knew his own, and lower body work came towards the end of Tycho’s routine. So Tycho had already been exercising for some time, and yet he was working himself harder than normal.

When Wedge had first been allowed to see Tycho, after his escape from Akrit’tar, he’d been shocked at his friend’s condition. Tycho had been underweight, hollow of face and obviously weak. During their time together in Rogue Squadron, Wedge and Tycho had enjoyed a non-committed sexual relationship, for occasional mutual pleasure and relaxation. Wedge had known Tycho’s body very well and the changes to it had shown him what his friend had endured, far more than anything Tycho had actually told him.

Since then, Tycho had worked on regaining his health and strength. He was close to his usual weight and his lithe body was starting to look toned again. Realistically, there was no need for him to push himself as hard as he was doing now.

_Is Tycho just filling in time because they won’t give him anything to do ?There’s no need for him to push himself though, if he’s just taking up time. Or is he venting frustration on the resistance machine, instead of punching Salm in the face ?_

Finishing his stretches, Wedge moved to a weight machine, adjusting the settings to suit himself before settling into it.

“I’ll come by for you after I finish work,” he said to Tycho. “We can go eat then head down to the officer’s mess.”

Tycho paused, and picked up a towel to wipe sweat from his face. “I don’t fancy going to the canteen tonight.” His face was carefully neutral.

“Then I’ll come by after I’ve eaten and we’ll go drink together. That’s an order, Captain Celchu,” Wedge added with mock severity.

Tycho turned to look at him, and a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “As you order, Commander Antilles.”

Wedge grinned as he pulled down the weighted bar. He knew he could drink Tycho under the table anytime, and tonight seemed like a good night to do so.

“Of course they’re not here,” Tycho said. “The room couldn’t possibly be this quiet if Wes was here.”

“Not unless he was sitting in a corner, plotting one of his pranks,” Wedge answered, leading Tycho over to a table near the middle of the room.

Aril Nunb was already there, sitting beside a stocky man in early middle age. Opposite was one of their former Rogue Squadron colleagues, the Quarren, Nrin Vakil. Nrin raised a hand by way of greeting, his mouth tentacles parting to reveal needle-sharp teeth in a Quarren smile.

“Nrin !” Tycho said, smiling more widely than Wedge had seen in a while. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Nrin offered him one of his large, three-fingered hands to shake. “After Ciutric, I took leave to think about what I wanted to do. I no longer wished to fly in combat, but I cannot abandon the Rebellion; there is much work to be done, still. So I now use my skills to train new pilots.”

“Good teachers are invaluable,” Tycho said. He paused for a moment, thinking, then smiled and sat next to Wedge.

Wedge gestured towards the older man. “Tycho, this is Captain Afyon.”

“Of the _Eridain_ ,” Tycho recalled. “You were at Endor.” He held out his hand.

Afyon simply stared at Tycho for a few moments, assessing him, then slowly reached out to shake his hand.

“Captain Celchu,” he said neutrally. “I’m impressed that one of the Hero Pilots of Endor remembers someone who just commands a mundane corvette.”

Wedge relaxed a little: he’d assumed Afyon’s subtle hostility to be due to the Lusankya rumours about Tycho, but it seemed to be no more than the captain’s habitual resentment towards well-known fighter pilots.

“Starfighters alone wouldn’t have won Endor,” Tycho answered calmly. “We wouldn’t have stood a chance without the capital ships keeping the Empire’s big guns busy, and buying time for us.”

“I wish the holojournalists would remember that,” grumbled Afyon.

In spite of his comment, he sat back in his chair and raised his glass of lum, letting the subject drop.

Wedge silently marvelled at Tycho’s patient attitude. It was what, barely twenty cycles since Tycho had done things like hot-headedly challenging the Ante-Endor Association on Mrlsst. That more impulsive, reckless Tycho would have reacted more strongly to Afyon’s comments.

_He’s not reacting enough. Something has changed in Tycho and I don’t know if I like it._

But Tycho was talking to Aril now, asking about her brother, Nien. A serving droid appeared and Wedge ordered lomin ale for himself and Tycho. By the time the drinks arrived, a pack of sabacc cards had been produced and Nrin was dealing the first hand. As the evening went on, Tycho began to relax, and Wedge did too. The sabacc was for low stakes only, though there was still a highly competitive edge, as there always was when pilots competed against one another at anything. After a couple of hours, a tightly fought hand ended with Aril getting her revenge for the night before. Wedge called the hand when holding a pure sabacc, but the card values shifted and he bombed out, while Aril’s score of 21 changed to -23, giving her a negative sabacc and both pots. Aril cheetled with delight, Wedge let out a howl of dismay and Tycho laughed heartlessly.

As Aril gathered up her winnings of 54 credits, three wooden Ewok coins and a pocket comb, Wedge leaned back in his seat and looked around. The officer’s mess had filled up quite a lot since he and Tycho had arrived. The other tables were mostly full, with other lively games going on. A few groups of people circulated around, seeking out friends or kibbitzing on games. As he sipped whiskey and watched, Wedge noticed glances being directed towards his table.

For a few moments, he thought that the looks were directed at himself. The year or so he’d spent doing propaganda for the New Republic had been an odd experience. Wedge remembered clearly how excited he’d felt as a child if someone famous had visited his parents’ fuelling depot. So he could understand why crowds had turned out on planet after planet to see the New Republic’s lauded hero, his medals and decorations glittering on his dress uniform. At the same time, it had been hard to realize that the hero they were staring at was actually himself, plain old Wedge Antilles. Wedge believed that his heroism, such as it was, happened strictly within the cockpit of an X-wing, and had often wondered if the crowds had been disappointed to see nothing more than a shortish, slim and rather ordinary-looking man. Since the propaganda tour, Wedge had almost got used to being recognized by beings who were complete strangers to him.

This time however, Wedge quickly realized that the glances were instead for Tycho, sitting next to him. He saw a dark-skinned women whispering something to a Rodian, who turned his sensitive snout towards the pilots’ table, and sniffed delicately. What the Rodian might learn about Tycho’s loyalty from his scent, Wedge couldn’t imagine but it seemed to be uneasy. Over to his right, Wedge spotted a group of junior SpecOps officers conferring together, and shooting quick looks in Tycho’s direction.

_He’s not a Lusankya agent !_

Wedge quickly suppressed the flare of irritation, not allowing anything to show on his face. Glancing sideways at Tycho, Wedge saw that the laughter had gone and the wary, defensive look was back. His heart sank, but he put a smile on his face as he spoke.

“I think this deck’s rigged,” he remarked, picking up one of the cards and examining it.

Tycho managed a slight smile. “You’re just a bad loser, Antilles. You always are.”

Wedge’s smile broadened, becoming feral. “Yeah, just ask the late Emperor Palpatine.”

Afyon snorted. “Typical snubfighter jockey ego.”

“You must admit that Commander Antilles has the skills and successes to justify an ego the size of the Maw,” Nrin told him straightfaced.

Wedge half-scowled. “I don’t know whether to be offended by that, or flattered.”

“Offended.”

“Flattered.”

Afyon and Aril spoke at the same time.

Wedge turned to Tycho, about to ask for some support. As he did, the little group of SpecOps officers passed behind their seats. They were talking amongst themselves, but as they moved past, one turned towards Tycho and spat the word ‘Lusankya’. Wedge tensed immediately, bringing his feet under his chair in order to stand up. But before he could rise, Tycho put a hand on Wedge’s forearm. Startled, Wedge looked at Tycho and saw the subtle shake of his head. Letting out a deep breath, Wedge made himself relax back into his chair.

The SpecOps officers walked away, not looking back.

“They’re not worth it,” Tycho said quietly.

“Their opinions certainly aren’t worth a hawk-bat’s piss,” Wedge snapped. He looked at his friend. “How can you stand it ?”

Tycho gave him a half-smile. “I found it’s possible to endure far more than you’d ever imagine you could.”

“You’re back with the New Republic now,” Wedge replied. “You shouldn’t have to be enduring anything.” _And what you endured at Isard’s hands nearly broke you, my friend. You were catatonic. And now you’ve stopped smiling and you look weary but you don’t admit it. How well are you coping, really ?I think your endurance is starting to run low. Talk to me !_

Aril picked up the cards, shuffling them neatly with her short-fingered hands. Tycho drained the last of his lomin ale.

“I think I’ll pass,” he said. Glancing at Wedge, he added. “You stay here; I’ll call for an escort from security. No point in disrupting your evening, when I can interrupt theirs,” he added with a thin smile.

Wedge shook his head. “There’s no reason to let wampa-heads like those SpecOps guys interrupt your evening, Tycho. If you really want to go, I’ll escort you, but the Rogues never won any battles by running away.”

Wedge regretted those last words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Tycho flinched momentarily, then the look in his bright blue eyes hardened.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, and sucked in a deep breath. “I guess maybe I got used to not attracting trouble. Sometimes it’s easier not to fight back.”

Wedge swallowed, fighting down a sudden pain at hearing his friend talk that way.

_Just how much did the Empire hurt you, Tycho ?You joined the Imperial Navy to fight and change them from within, then you joined the Rebellion to fight actively against them. You’re a fighter !_

“You’re a Rogue, Tycho,” he said aloud. “No one can take away what you’ve done to fight the Empire. You flew into a Death Star to take the fight to Palpatine. Remember that.”

“An experienced soldier learns when and where to fight,” Nrin remarked, his mouth tentacles curling as he spoke. “When you are alone and outnumbered, it may be better to hide, but sometimes you have to stand and fight.”

Afyon nodded his agreement with that. Aril began dealing the cards, including a hand for Tycho. Tycho sat still for a few moments, looking at his friends gathered round the table. He looked last at Wedge, his expression resigned, then pushed his empty glass over to him.

“If I’m staying, I need another drink.”

Grinning, Wedge turned to attract the attention of a serving droid.

  


The next morning, Wedge received a summons to Admiral Ackbar, who was now about his flagship, _Home One_. There, he was officially given the news he’d been expecting for some time, that Rogue Squadron was being recommissioned, and happily accepted the post of commander. He spent another three days on board >I>Home One, in further discussion with Admiral Ackbar and dealing with various administrative necessities, including a full medical assessment. After a day of being scanned, poked, tested, injected and observed, Wedge was almost relieved to get away aboard a diplomatic shuttle for another ‘smile and wave’ propaganda visit.

Herzob was an agriworld, several hours’ flight away. It had a small population, but the amount of grain produced on its vast farms made it an important potential ally for the New Republic.The rolling plains and endless fields reminded Wedge of the farm school he’d attended on Corellia, prior to the death of his parents. He happily accepted offers to visit agricompanies and found himself relishing the sunshine and fresh air after weeks either aboard ship or in the underground base on Folor. For Wedge, the highlight of his visit was the opportunity to ride a slopewing, something he’d not done since leaving school. In the end, he wasn’t sure if the planetry dignitaries had been more impressed by his war exploits in an X-wing, or his ability to herd nerfs from the back of a slopewing. Pleasant though the visit was, Wedge was still grateful to head back to Folor after his eight days away.

On the way back, Wedge had little to do other than start worrying about Tycho again. He’d sent a couple of holomessages to his friend but had only had a brief, uninformative subspace message in return. Wedge knew in his head that Tycho’s messages were being monitored, so Tycho wouldn’t disclose anything personal that would be read by security. His heart, however, worried that Tycho’s near-silence was a sign of withdrawal.

  


On arriving at Folor, Wedge stopped at his quarters just long enough to dump his kitbag on his bed, then went to Tycho’s room. Tycho wasn’t in, so Wedge called security and was informed that Captain Celchu was in the canteen. Wedge headed over there, arriving at the same time as a group of officers from a frigate. He joined the back of the group and entered the canteen as part of a crowd. Standing quietly behind a pair of talkative Bothans, he was able to look around the room without being obverved. Wedge very quickly spotted Tycho, sitting at a table with the female security officer opposite him. As he watched, a stocky man in engineering uniform approached the table as if to sit at one of the empty spaces. The engineer looked twice at Tycho, then turned abruptly away and sat at a more crowded table. Tycho sat very still for a moment, then went back to poking listlessly at his bowl of red noodles. The security officer said something to him that made him look up, his expression lightening briefly. She pointed to the bowl and Tycho lifted a forkful of noodles and ate slowly.

_I shouldn’t have been away so long._

Wedge’s thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from another Bothan standing behind him.

“Do you want to get served or not ?” the golden-eyed Bothan asked tetchily.

“Sorry.” Wedge turned his attention to the servers who were waiting for his order. He took a bowlful of the Corellian spiced nerf stew and a dish of sunfruit cream fluff, adding a large mug of caf at the strongest setting available. Tycho didn’t bother looking up as he approached, still poking at his noodles. Only when Wedge set his tray down, did Tycho look up, somewhat surprised. The look turned to delight as he recognised his friend.

“Wedge ! When did you get back ?”

“Just now,” Wedge answered. “How are you ? You’re looking fitter.”

Which wasn’t entirely true. Tycho looked close to his usual weight now, but the slump of his shoulders and a pinched look around his eyes told of ongoing mental stress.

“I’m all right,” Tycho replied off-handedly and changed the subject. “Is there any news from High Command ?”

Wedge nodded, and pointed his spoon at Tycho’s dish. “Carry on with that and I’ll tell you.”

Tycho looked at his bowl as though he’d forgotten it was there. He wound up a forkful of noodles and chewed absently, looking at Wedge.

“It was like I thought,” Wedge told him. “Rogue Squadron is being recommisioned and Admiral Ackbar offered me the post as commander.” He couldn’t help grinning at the knowledge that he was going to be back in the cockpit of an X-wing, where he belonged.

“That’s great,” Tycho said sincerely. “I understand the importance of the diplomatic work you’ve been doing, but now the propaganda has built up Rogue Squadron so much, they need to have it active again, and there’s no one better to lead it than you.”

“No one’s irreplacable,” Wedge said promptly. “Remember how we all felt lost when Luke left ?”

Tycho pointed his fork at Wedge. “And you’re the one who kept us together after Hoth and took over from Luke.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the security officer leaned forward and looked at Wedge. “Am I still required or will you be staying with Captain Celchu now ?”

Wedge thought rapidly. “You’ll finish eating before I do, and I have to unpack and get ready for tomorrow. You leave when you’re ready, and I’ll catch up with you later, Tycho.”

Tycho nodded, and settled to eating his noodles while Wedge told him about the visit to Herzob. He soon slowed down, spending more time pushing the noodles around the dish than actually eating. His shoulders gradually slumped and the movements of his fork became jerky. Wedge finished the story about the hand-reared bantha cub and left a silence. He concentrated on eating his savoury stew and waited.

After a couple of minutes, Tycho looked up. Although his voice was carefully casual, he couldn’t disguise the tension around his vivdly blue eyes.

“Have any decisions been made yet about the new squadron roster ?”

The spicy stew lost some of its taste in Wedge’s mouth. He swallowed, and took a deep breath. “Yes. I’ve been assigned Aril Nunb as my XO.”

Tycho looked down at his dish. “She’s a great pilot. Rogue Squadron has always been proud to have Sullustans amongst its members.”

“She worked a lot with her brother in his smuggling days,” Wedge said. “I expect she’s picked up some interesting skills along the way.”

Tycho nodded. He dropped his fork into his mostly-empty dish and decisively shoved it away from himself.

“I’ve had enough,” he stated, looking around at the security officer. “I’m ready to go back to my quarters.”

He stood and said goodbye to Wedge, who was busy with a generous mouthful of stew and could only nod and wave a hand in return. As Tycho and the security officer made their way across the busy canteen, Wedge bolted down more stew. When Tycho reached the door, Wedge took a swallow of caf, then shoved in a quick mouthful of his dessert before regrettfully leaving the rest of the sunfruit cream fluff as he rose and followed.

He knew Tycho was returning to his quarters, so it was easy enough to keep a turn or two behind and out of sight. A pair of engineering officers nearly collided with him as they rounded a corner. They would have passed Tycho further along, and were busy talking to one another as they all but walked straight into Wedge. He had clearly heard the words ‘brainwashed’ and ‘traitor’ before their conversation turned to apologies for carelessness. The apologies withered under his glare, and Wedge pushed past them and hurried on.

Pausing before the last turn into Tycho’s corridor, Wedge listened and heard the security officer politely wishing him a good night, before his door hissed shut. Wedge rounded the corner and found the security officer heading back in his direction. She looked surprised to see him, and saluted smartly. Wedge waved a casual salute in return, and settled into a more relaxed pose as she approached.

“Is there a problem, sir ?” she asked.

“That’s what I wanted to speak to you about,” Wedge answered. “How is Tycho holding up at the moment ? He won’t tell me, and I’ve not seen him in a few days.”

The officer glanced back at Tycho’s door before looking at Wedge again. “He doesn’t really talk to me either. Not about how he feels.”

“No, he woudn’t,” Wedge agreed. “But what do you see ? Is he eating properly ? It didn’t look like it just now.”

The woman gave an exasperated sigh. “My job is to escort Captain Celchu when he leaves his quarters, and to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere he shouldn’t, and to see that he doesn’t do anything he’s forbidden to do. That’s all. I’m not a doctor or a psychiatrist.”

_But he’s still a fellow being who’s suffering unjustly. Don’t you care about that ?_

Wedge was on the point of snapping at her, when he realized that the officer’s attitude was frustration, not indifference. As she’d said, her job wasn’t to try and help Tycho with his problems, and anything she could offer by the way of company and conversation was tainted by the knowledge that her company was enforced, not voluntary. She was his watcher first, and a companion second.

“I understand,” Wedge said quietly. “I know this isn’t what you signed up to the Rebellion for and Tycho’s situation isn’t your fault. But I’m asking just as his friend, maybe the only one he has in a position to help him.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. He barely eats enough to get by, and that’s mostly to please me. And then he burns it up in the gym. It’s the only recreation he gets.”

“Has anyone called on him: Captains Nunb or Vakil ?”

“Captain Vakil did call on the evening after you left. But he’s been transferred to another base since then. I don’t know if Captain Nunb has made contact with Captain Celchu.”

Wedge resisted the urge to ask if there had been anyone else; the answer was all too likely to be no. It was possible that Wes or Hobbie had sent a message and that Tycho had simply not told the security officer about it. But a message from someone many light-years distant was small comfort to a man surrounded by people who didn’t trust him.

“All right. Thank you for your help.” Wedge dismissed the officer with a nod.

She saluted and walked briskly away, while Wedge wandered back to his own quarters, his thoughts circling like a flock of hawk-bats round a granite slug. He was almost surprised when he found himself back in his rooms. Shaking his head, he tried to dismiss his worries about Tycho, at least for a little while. Deciding to take a hot shower, Wedge headed into the bedroom, and saw his kitbag lying on the bed where he’d dumped it earlier. That had to be tidied away before he could relax.

Most of his stuff went back where he’d had it before his trip, but there were some new items he had to find places for. The bulkiest was a pair of sturdy nerf-hide riding boots that he’d been presented with on Herzob. Much as he liked them, Wedge couldn’t see himself having much use for them here on Folor. He dug around in the back of his closet, trying to make a space for them, and uncovered a large, shallow box. Forgetting the boots, Wedge took the box out and removed the lid. Gently, he moved aside the soft cobweb paper that filled it, so he could see the contents that the paper protected. This had been a lifeday present from Tycho almost two years ago, while Rogue Squadron had still been active. Wedge stared into the box, remembering. He bit softly on his lower lip for a few moments as he thought.

_It’s a risk. It could push him the wrong way. But if I get it right, I’ll break down the walls he’s built up. Tycho just can’t go on like this!_

Wedge stayed still a moment longer, then put the lid back on the box and stood up, with it in his hands.

“I have to try,” he said aloud. “I have to.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedge believes he must do something to help Tycho recover. Will Tycho trust him enough to release his inner feelings ? And can Wedge break the barriers without shattering the whole man ?

The next day, Wedge had a quiet word with the security officer, and made sure that he was in the cantina at the same time as Tycho for the evening meal. As before, Tycho ate lightly though without needing any prompting. He showed no relish for the food though, and Wedge suspected that Tycho was eating mostly in order to stop Wedge worrying about him. When they were done, Wedge invited Tycho to join him in his quarters.

“I was given a bottle of the local whiskey while I was on Herzob,” he explained. “I don’t know what it’s like, and I’m rather afraid to try it alone.”

Tycho smiled slightly. “Wedge Antilles, Ace Pilot and Hero of the New Republic, frightened of a bottle of whiskey ?”

“It’s green,” Wedge informed him.

Tycho’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re not doing a good job of selling this idea to me.”

Wedge laughed. “Come on, Tych. I need my wingman to back me up.”

Tycho smiled, looking more alive than he had for days. “OK, Lead.”

Back in his quarters, Wedge produced the bottle of whiskey, which was a startling shade of green, and two glasses. He took the top off and sniffed cautiously, before pouring a generous slug into each glass. Tycho accepted a glass, eyed it warily, then took a sip as Wedge did the same. In spite of the distressing colour, the whiskey had a warm, smokey taste that Wedge liked. He knew it wouldn’t be quite so much to Tycho’s taste, but his friend nodded approvingly.

“You know, if you closed your eyes when drinking it, this could be a pleasant experience,” Tycho remarked.

“It’s certainly better than some of the things I’ve been given on these propaganda tours,” Wedge answered. “And much better than the kissing babies thing.”

Tycho shook his head. “Why would anyone in their right mind want a stranger to kiss their babies ?”

Wedge shrugged. “I’m presented to them as someone special, or lucky, and it’s seen almost like I’m giving a blessing to the child, or something.”

Tycho looked frankly sceptical at that. “Don’t go getting any ideas about being divine, Wedge.”

“I’m not divine; I’m not even a Jedi.”

“Some people think Jedi are pretty much divine,” Tycho pointed out.

Wedge snorted. “Hey, we’ve both lived and worked alongside a real, live Jedi. I know Luke isn’t divine; he farts and shits just the same as the rest of us.”

Tycho nearly spat out a mouthful of whiskey at that, gulping it instead and breaking out into a coughing fit broken by laughter. Wedge smiled, inwardly delighted at his success so far in getting Tycho to relax.

“Shavvit, Wedge,” Tycho sputtered. “Are you trying to kill me ?”

Wedge shook his head.

_No, I’m trying to get you to lower the walls you’ve built up. Whiskey and laughter is just the first stage._

Wedge reminded Tycho of their arrival on Hoth, and Luke’s reaction to the deep snow.

“… and remember how much he loved that first snowball fight – shrieking and laughing like a five-year-old ?” Wedge recalled.

Tycho was chuckling. “Right up until the moment when Hobbie got him right in the face with one. I don’t think Luke realized just how cold snow is until then.”

“He looked like he’d been slapped with a dead mynock,” Wedge said. “He just stood there, gasping, then shook himself and started swearing like a twenty-year troop sergeant.

“I didn’t think Luke knew most of those words,” Tycho said grinning.

“I taught him most of them,” Wedge confessed. “But he taught me three ways to insult a Jawa’s mother, in return.”

“Teach me,” Tycho asked. “It’s bound to come in useful some time.”

“Some time,” Wedge agreed. “But not necessarily within our lifetimes.”

He taught Tycho the insults, and kept the conversation going. Wedge told anecdotes about his propaganda tour and stories about misadventures at farm school and about working with and learning from Booster Terrik. He kept the glasses topped up, establishing a routine of just adding a little at a time, never enough to be a really obvious refill. Tycho drank his whiskey without thinking about it while Wedge held his attention, talking instead of drinking himself. Wedge kept a careful calculation of how much Tycho had downed – the intention was to get him relaxed and soften his inhibitions, not to get him reeling drunk.

By about the third glass of green whiskey, Tycho was sitting casually in his chair, no longer tense, as though ready to take flight at any moment. The lines of his face had smoothed out as he relaxed and his blue eyes no longer had the wariness that had haunted him so for long. Wedge was delighted with his success so far but felt his throat turn dry at the knowledge that it was time for him to push on to the next stage of his plan.

Taking a swallow of whiskey, Wedge smiled and brought the conversation around to a luxurious base that Rogue Squadron had been stationed at, not long before the unit was decommissioned.

“I remember it,” Tycho said, his gaze losing focus for a moment as he thought back. “There was a spa and a pool and beaches nearby.”

“I remember the spa,” Wedge remarked. His visit to the spa had been the first part of a highly memorable evening. Three members of his squadron had decided that he was too stressed and had taken it upon themselves to relieve that tension, in a variety most enjoyable ways. Tycho’s diversion had been a session floating in a hot tub. That had been a pleasant surprise in itself, but Tycho’s follow-up of hot, hard sex in the warm water had been even better. And from the look in Tycho’s eyes right now, he was remembering that visit to the spa too. “You said that if I wasn’t relaxed after that, then you were a Hutt’s dancing girl,” Wedge said. “And I said you’d look good with a chain around your neck.”

Tycho nodded, smiling. “I remember.”

Wedge smiled too, and reached around behind his chair to pick up the shallow box he’d hidden there. Tycho’s eyes widened a little in recognition as Wedge put the box on his lap and removed the lid.

“This was your next lifeday present to me,” Wedge said. He lifted out a nerfhide collar in deep crimson, with golden buckle and D-ring. “Of course the colour suits you better,” he added. He caressed the beautifully soft leather, then passed it across to Tycho.

Tycho turned the collar about, letting the leather slide through his fingers.

“I have all the harness in here still,” Wedge said. “I’ve always taken great care of it.” He took out one of the matching wrist retraints. “It means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad,” Tycho said softly, looking down at the collar in his hands.

Wedge watched him for a moment, then moved the box from his lap and shifted to the edge of his chair. “Just hold it up, Tycho, let me see how it looks against you, please.”

Slowly, Tycho raised the collar and held it against his neck, over the collar of his dark blue tunic.

“No, that’s not…” Wedge crossed the narrow space between them. Opening the neck of the tunic, he took the crimson slave collar from Tycho and wrapped it loosely around his neck, just tucking the end of the strap through the buckle without fastening it.

“That’s better,” he said, moving back a pace.

The deep crimson glowed against Tycho’s pale skin and Wedge felt a corresponding warmth throbbing in his groin. He had always loved to break down Tycho’s aristocratic poise and hear him begging to be fucked. To have the handsome, noble-looking man collared like a slave and ready to obey his sexual demands was a real turn on for Wedge. He also enjoyed using the wrist and ankle restraints and the rest of the harness to control Tycho, to position him as he wanted him. And Tycho had loved to submit, to trust Wedge to excite and frustrate him and to shatter his self-control.

Wedge wanted to do that now, to break down the walls Tycho had erected around his feelings. But since their last sexual encounter, Tycho had been held a prisoner for real. He’d been shackled and restrained, tortured and probably subjected to other physical and mental abuse that Wedge could only guess at. It was asking a lot of him to wear a collar and restraints again, even ones only associated with pleasure. Wedge knew that Tycho trusted him with his life and he hoped that this trust would help Tycho conquer his fears.

Now, Tycho just sat and looked at Wedge. The pupils of his eyes were wide and dark, but Wedge couldn’t tell if it was from desire, fear, or even both emotions together. Slowly, Tycho lifted a hand and touched the collar. His fingertips slid over the smooth, soft hide. He licked dry lips, a gesture that made Wedge’s pulse jump. Impulsively, Wedge moved forward and put his hand on Tycho’s thigh, looking deep into those blue, blue eyes. As Tycho stared back at him, Wedge closed the distance between them and softly touched his lips against Tycho’s.

After a moment, Tycho responded, his lips returning the pressure. The kiss lasted just a few seconds, then Wedge withdrew. Tycho’s breathing was uneven and he trembled just a little.

“Wedge,” he whispered. “I don’t know…”

Wedge silenced the protest with another kiss, this one longer and firmer. Again, Tycho yielded, his mouth moving against Wedge’s. Wedge savoured the taste of the whiskey, softened in Tycho’s mouth, and of Tycho himself. He moved, kissing along the line of Tycho’s jaw to that sensitive spot just below the corner of his jaw. Tycho breathed out slowly, almost moaning, and Wedge’s balls and cock responded to the sound.

“Trust me,” he whispered in Tycho’s ear, his voice husky.

His hand slid up Tycho’s thigh to his groin, and gently caressed the bulge there. Wedge nuzzled Tycho’s earlobe, then leaned back, his hand still on Tycho’s groin.

Tycho was sprawled back in his chair, his mouth slightly open as he looked at Wedge. He was breathing fast and shivering slightly, his eyes wide. Moving slowly, Wedge put his other hand on Tycho’s shoulder, sliding it down his arm. Some new emotion suddenly lit Tycho’s eyes, but before Wedge could identify it, Tycho had leaned forward and grabbed him, pulling him close. Tycho clung to Wedge in a tight hug as he urgently sought the other man’s mouth with his lips.

For the first moments, Wedge was aware of nothing but the feel of Tycho’s body pressed against his, the arms holding him, and Tycho’s lips and tongue against his own. As the first rush of feeling passed, a distant part of Wedge’s brain began working.

_Physical touch. He’s been deprived for so long ! I’ve hugged him a couple of times since he was released, just as my friend. But with half the people here refusing to even look him in the face, Tycho’s been so isolated. I don’t think either of us realized just how bad it’s been for him until right now._ The next few minutes were spent in fulfilling that need for touch. Wedge stroked and caressed Tycho, always keeping some contact between them. He kissed Tycho on the lips, the throat and the palms of his hands, licking his pale skin and getting his hands under Tycho’s tunic to slide them over the warm flesh hidden there. At first, Tycho held on to Wedge, needing his solidity and physical presence. As Wedge delicately reassured and aroused him, the desparate need for simple touch became increasingly sexual. Wedge looked at Tycho’s face and smiled. He caressed the sensitive skin of Tycho’s throat, then leaned forward to fasten the collar properly. Tycho offered no resistance.

“That looks good,” Wedge said. “Go take a look in the mirror.” He gestured to the bedroom.

Tycho stood and obediently went through to the other room. Wedge slipped off his boots and socks, picked up the box, and followed.

Tycho was standing in front of the mirror, his eyes slightly dreamy as he brushed his fingertips over the crimson collar that circled his throat. Wedge set the box down on the low locker unit and took out the wrist retraints. Tycho turned to face him as he approached.

“It looks even better with these on,” Wedge said.

Tycho didn’t say anything, but just held his arms out. He watched as Wedge pushed his sleeves up and fastened the restraints around his wrists. When he was done, Wedge slid his arms around Tycho and pulled him close, their bodies pressed together as they kissed. He felt the tension leaving Tycho’s body as lips and tongues met and explored each other. He could feel Tycho’s warmth against himself, and feel the rhythm of the other man’s breathing. When the breathing got faster, Wedge gently broke the kiss and stepped back.

“I’m getting hot,” Wedge said with a smile, and began unfastening his shirt.

Tycho’s eyes followed Wedge’s moves as he stripped off his clothing. Usually, Wedge would tell Tycho to remove his clothing first, emphasising his dominance in their role-play. Tonight though, Wedge wanted to apply that control with the lightest of touches. Although Tycho had been wearing the collar and restraints for a few minutes now, they were hidden by his clothes, their presence muted. Now Wedge was naked, vulnerable, while Tycho was still dressed.

They came together again, Tycho’s hands roaming over Wedge’s skin as they kissed. Wedge ground his hips against Tycho’s, making him breathe out suddenly. As Tycho’s mouth opened, Wedge thrust his tongue in. Tycho seemed to melt in his arms momentarily, then changed his hold, sliding his hands down to grasp Wedge’s arse. Wedge made a satisfied sound, and moved to kiss Tycho’s neck. Tycho moaned, pulling Wedge hard against the bulge in his trousers. As Tycho gasped, Wedge chuckled softly. He eased himself away from the other man. Tycho stared anxiously at him, pleading silently with his eyes.

“Your clothes are getting in the way of what I want to do to you,” Wedge said.

Tycho hesitated before slowly pulling off his tunic. He dropped it on the floor and looked at Wedge, who smiled. Moving closer, Wedge put his hand on Tycho’s bare chest and slid it down, over his stomach and onto the bulge in Tycho’s trousers. Wedge rubbed him there, feeling Tycho’s cock swelling to full hardness at his touch.

“I want to fuck you, Tycho,” he said, low and intense. “I want to fill you, and make you come so hard you see stars.”

As Tycho moaned breathily, Wedge unfastened his trousers, then stepped back. Tycho stripped himself rapidly and stood before Wedge, naked but for the crimson collar and cuffs.

“Good.”

Wedge stepped forward, placing his hands on Tycho’s sides. Slowly, he slid them lower, first reaching around to caress the taut buttocks, then bringing his hands back until they were resting either side of Tycho’s stiff cock. Wedge grinned wickedly at him, moving his thumbs slightly so they brushed through the dark blond pubic hair.

Tycho whimpered a little, then moaned as Wedge cupped his balls and pulled gently on them.

“Put the rest of the harness on but leave the leash,” Wedge ordered, his voice soft, but firm.

Tycho swallowed, then strode rapidly to the box. Wedge watched with pleasure as Tycho bent to fasten the ankle straps. He admired the play of smooth muscles as Tycho added the thigh straps then picked up the rest of the kit and returned. Tycho held out the leather straps like an offering. Wedge took them and held them up as though considering their use, and letting Tycho anticipate the moment. He trailed the end of one strap down Tycho’s chest and flat stomach, stopping just short of his genitals. Tycho clenched and unclenched fists as Wedge continued to tease him, emitting involuntary moans at the exquisite touches.

Wedge was as hard as Tycho, aware of the heavy thumping of his heart and a delicious, aching tightness in his balls. The need to simply bury himself in Tycho’s body and pound him into the mattress was affecting his ability to concentrate on more subtle thoughts. Moisture gleamed on the end of Tycho’s penis, and his eyes seemed to be looking into another galaxy. Wedge backed away a pace, taking a deep, calming breath. Tycho’s eyes cleared and he looked at Wedge, the brilliant blue eyes burning intensely. Wedge gestured at the bed.

“On your back,” he said, his voice husky.

Tycho lay down, watching as Wedge approached more slowly, giving them both time to ease off slightly. Standing beside the bed, Wedge methodically attached short straps from the ankle cuffs to the thigh straps, drawing Tycho’s feet back so he lay with his legs apart and knees in the air. More straps attached wrists to ankles, so Tycho’s arms were pinned by his sides. He could move a little, but couldn’t change position or effectively defend himself from anything Wedge wished to do to him. There was nothing but eagerness in Tycho’s face as he submitted to the control.

Wedge climbed onto the end of the bed and paused there, admiring the sight that Tycho made. His friend’s lean, firm body was controlled by the straps, arranged ideally for Wedge to satisfy himself at his pleasure. Tycho’s eyes were dark with desire for him, his mouth slightly open and his cock standing hard and proud. Wedge was almost dizzy with the intensity of the moment. There was the emotion of sharing intimate pleasure with someone he had a deep bond with, and then the simple, animal urge to fuck a desirable, compliant body.

Eagerly pushing Tycho’s legs further apart, Wedge lay on top of him, belly to belly. Rigid penises rubbed against each other, bringing mutual moans of pleasure that ended in a kiss. It was a deep, hard kiss,Wedge pressing Tycho’s head back into the pillow. He broke it, rocking back to lower his head to Tycho’s chest so he could lick and nibble the hard nubs of his nipples. Tycho moaned louder.

“Yes, Wedge, please…”

Wedge shifted position, rubbing his cock against Tycho’s. Tycho made a frustrated sound and wriggled about, unable to move more than a few inches. Kissing Tycho’s chest once more, Wedge moved backwards to kneel between Tycho’s legs. Tycho lifted his head, watching with hungry eyes as Wedge lowered his hand. Wedge stroked slowly, slowly, up Tycho’s inner thigh, ending with his fingers on the delicate skin between scrotum and arsehole. Tycho bit on his lower lip as Wedge’s fingertip carefully circled his rectum. Wedge looked Tycho in the eye, and moved his hand away.

“Ahhh, Damn you,” Tycho hissed, jerking at the straps that bound him.

Wedge grinned. “Need some lube,” he said, picking it up from the foot of the bed.

Applying a little to his finger, he swirled it around Tycho’s arsehole and gently pushed the finger inside. Tycho’s back arched as Wedge stroked his prostrate. He continued to jerk and twitch as Wedge carefully worked him, opening him up. Wedge’s balls were tight and aching, his need fuelled by the sounds Tycho was making, and by the musky smell of sex. It took a real effort of self-control to withdraw his fingers at the right moment. Tycho gave a cry of frustration as his near-orgasm faded.

“Fuck me; just fuck me,” he pleaded.

It was what Wedge had been waiting to hear. He hastily smeared some more lube on himself, and moved into the right position. He paused a moment, the tip of his penis pressed against Tycho’s hole, then slid inside in a long, steady motion. Tycho moaned deeply, his hips rising to meet Wedge. His durasteel-hard cock was pressed between their bodies as Wedge lay on top of him. Wedge stayed still a moment, to relish the feel of Tycho’s torso pressed directly against his own, skin to skin. Then he kissed Tycho deeply, filling his mouth as he filled his arse, and started thrusting.

The need for air finally broke the kiss. Wedge was gasping as he pounded hard into Tycho’s body. Tycho was trembling, jerking involuntarily at the bonds that constrained him. With his motion restricted, he could only release the growing sensations within through sound; he was moaning louder and more intensely than Wedge had ever heard from him before, sounds that seemed to be coming from his very soul. The sounds, and the feel of Tycho’s taut body twitching beneath him, swept Wedge away. He was at once intimately connected to Tycho, and yet submerged in the overwhelming sensations of his own flesh.

A grunting cry ripped from Tycho as he came, his head lifting and then crashing back against the pillow. Wedge instinctively steadied himself as his own body took over, the thrusts becoming harder yet and deeper. Then he too, came, plunging into stars and darkness as though leaping into hyperspace.

When he opened his eyes again, he was slumped atop Tycho, both of them still breathing heavily. Wedge moaned gently and stretched a little. After a few moments, he lifted a heavy arm and hit the switch that released the electromagnetic locks on the restraints. Tycho sighed, slowly stretching stiff limbs. As he began to relax, Wedge carefully withdrew himself from Tycho’s body, and pulled the bedcover over them. They lay together in a sweaty, sticky mess, with arms and legs tangled around one another. Tycho looked at Wedge and blinked suddenly. Wedge saw tears sparkling on his lashes, and gently stroked Tycho’s fine hair.

“Go on,” he whispered.

Tycho blinked again, then wrapped his arms tightly around Wedge, burying his face in his shoulder as he gave in to his feelings.

Wedge held him, stroking his hair and occasionally whispering soothing noises as Tycho wept. Tears gathered in the corners of his own eyes as he listened to the sounds of his friend’s pain, and he blinked them away. Two or three times, the sobbing seemed to stop as Tycho tried to pull himself together. But a quiet word of sympathy from Wedge, or a touch, would open his emotions again. Eventually though, the groans of anguish and the hiccupping sobs faded and Tycho lay quietly, huddled against Wedge like a frightened and tired child. Wedge simply held him, acutely aware of his breathing, and the slight movements he made now and again.

After a few minutes, Tycho took a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh.

“Thirsty ?” Wedge asked.

“Mmmm, yes.” Tycho’s voice was croaky.

Wedge gently disentangled himself from Tycho and the bedcover, and padded into the other room. When he returned a couple of minutes later, Tycho was sitting up in the bed. The collar, straps and restraints were piled neatly on the bedside locker and Tycho had found something to wipe himself with. His eyes were rimmed with red but he looked calm. He took the glass of water from Wedge, who sat on the edge of the bed, and drained half of it in one go, before drinking the rest more slowly.

“Better ?”

“Mmm, yes. Thank you,” Tycho added. After a few moments he looked up, candid blue eyes searching Wedge’s face.

Wedge didn’t know what he was looking for. He returned the straight gaze, hoping Tycho would see the sympathy and support he wanted to give. He’d broken through Tycho’s mental walls, but there was the risk that his friend might crumble without them.

_I broke you down, but I don’t know if I can build you back up again. I’ll help all I can, but I’m a soldier, not a psychiastrist._

“Thank you,” Tycho repeated, touching Wedge’s arm.

He looked down at his glass, turning it in his hands, then suddenly yawned. Glancing at the chrono, he said.

“It’s not really late, but I’m tired.”

Wedge grinned at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said impulsively.

Tycho’s eyes widened in surprise, then he smiled too. “You pilots are all ego.”

“In some cases, it’s justified,” Wedge said. “And I mean me, not Wes.”

Tycho gave him a mock-scowl. “You ruined my punchline.” He yawned again. “There’s no need for you to get dressed. I’ll have security escort me back to my quarters.”

Wedge shook his head. “Stay here. I’d like you to.” Although Tycho sounded calm, Wedge noticed him shuddering slightly now and again, a reaction to the emotional storm of crying.

“I’m under house arrest.”

“So ? You’re with a senior officer who’s cleared for watchdog duty. If Salm or anyone objects, assuming they find out in the first place, I’m the one who’ll get shouted at,” Wedge said. “I can stand that and it would be worth it. I want you to stay tonight.” _I don't think you should be alone right now. I know how long and dark the night can be when emotions are high and you're feeling vulnerable: those nights after my parents were killed, after Yarvin, when so many died. I remember how much I needed comfort then._

__

__

Tycho nodded. “I’d like that too,” he said quietly.

Wedge smiled, and took the empty glass from him. “You go use the bathroom while I tidy up a little.”

“OK.”

Wedge heaved a mental sigh of relief as he headed back to the other room.

_So far, so good !_

When Wedge woke the next morning, it felt rather comforting to have someone in the bed beside him. He wondered if Tycho had missed that too, and rolled over to look at his friend. Tycho was already awake, watching him as he stirred.

“Good morning,” Wedge said sleepily. “How are you ?”

“I’m good,” Tycho said, and smiled. “Good,” he repeated firmly.

Wedge’s heart lifted and he smiled in return. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Wedge. I slept better than I have in I don't know how long." He paused, and sighed. "I know I've still got a lot to work through, but I feel stronger, somehow. I owe you.”

Wedge shook his head. “We stopped counting favours years back, remember ? You’re my wingman; we’re supposed to look out for one another.”

“A wingman who can’t fly,” Tycho said, bitterness tinging his voice. He sighed sharply. “Shavvit, Wedge. It’s the inactivity that’s so hard to bear. When I was on Akrit’tar I was planning my escape; I had something to work towards. I got back to the Rebellion and my life’s come to a halt again. Vader’s dead, the Emperor’s dead, but the Empire is still there and there’s plenty of fight left in it still.”

He looked straight at Wedge, his blue eyes bright. “I want to be part of that fight. I have skills I can contribute; I can make a difference, Wedge.”

“I know,” Wedge replied. Before he could continue, Tycho flopped back onto the pillow with a sigh.

“It’s not just revenge for what the Empire’s done to me,” Tycho said quietly. “It’s to stop them from hurting other people. You know what it’s like to lose your home and your family, Wedge. I… we both… want to stop the Empire from putting other people through that.”

Even after almost ten years, Wedge still felt that ache in his heart at the mention of his lost childhood. He’d been just seventeen, thrust abruptly from the warmth of his secure life into the adult world by the destruction of parents and home. Tycho had been an adult when Alderaan was destroyed: he’d left behind his home and graduated from the Imperial Academy. However, Wedge could hardly begin to imagine what it would be like to know that your home planet had been reduced to rubble.

“You lost more than I did,” he said. “You and the other Alderaanians who were off planet. You can never return to the places you loved, or see your own, beautiful planet hanging there in space as you approach. And families and whole communities, completely and utterly gone. I have some family back on Corellia, even though we hardly ever saw one another. You don’t have so much as a second cousin alive.”

“That’s why I want to go on fighting,” Tycho replied. “Even if it’s only datawork. I’ll fly a desk if I have to.”

The phrase jogged Wedge’s memory.

“Would you fly a shuttle ?” he asked.

“Of course,” Tycho answered. “If Salm would ever let me.”

“An unarmed shuttle ?”

“Not many cargo shuttles have guns.”

Wedge shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking of a cargo shuttle.” He paused, marshalling his thoughts. “You’re already living under house arrest – fairly strict conditions. Could you go on with that, maybe even stricter ones, if it got you actively fighting the Empire again ?”

“Yes,” Tycho answered immediately. He fixed his eyes anxiously on Wedge’s face.

“I want you as my XO in Rogue Squadron,” Wedge said. “There’s a number of logical reasons, but basically I just want you there, and you deserve to be there. I just have to find of way of convincing Admiral Ackbar and General Salm to agree with me. I like Aril, but I’m justified in telling them that her piloting skills are all instinctive: she can’t teach her skills, and I need someone to help me train the new squadron to be the very best.”

“How can you persuade them to take me instead ?” Tycho asked. “I can’t see you needing anything less than a thermal detonator to get Salm to agree.”

“I was thinking of a proton torpedo myself.” Wedge smiled, then continued. “He sees you as a security risk, so we need to think of ways to minimize your potential to do damage. Like flying a Z-95 with powered-down targetting lasers for training, and a shuttle other times.”

“If I’m part of an active squadron, then I’ll be under even closer supervision,” Tycho agreed. “I’ll have to stay away from the hangars except when necessary, and then under close watch in case I try to sabotage anything.”

“Over-rides on your snubfighter in case you try to ram anyone with it,” Wedge added.

“Security will want to check all the datawork I do, and track any correspondance.”

Wedge frowned. “It’s a lot to ask of you, Tycho. You’ll have no privacy and you won’t be able to fight and defend yourself when we’re flying. If something unexpected happened, you’d be defenceless.”

“If I’ve done my job of training the new pilots, they’ll be my defence,” Tycho said. There was an intensity, a hope, in his face that Wedge hadn’t seen since the ill-fated mission to Coruscant. “I’d rather fly and take that risk than peel tubers or file datawork. I’m under house arrest now, Wedge; I can put up with more restrictions. Shavvit, I’ll even let them put a remote-controlled destruct device in my fighter if that’s what it takes to make them let me be in Rogue Squadron.”

Wedge suppressed a shiver at Tycho’s last, firm words. “I don’t like that idea,” he said. “But if you’re willing, then I’ll put it to Salm and Ackbar. Though only because I know it will never be necessary.”

Tycho closed his eyes for a moment. “You don’t know how much all this means to me, Wedge,” he said softly.

“I’m just glad I’m in a position where I can do something to help you,” Wedge replied sincerely. “I’ll do my best for you.”

“Of course you will,” Tycho said. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

He cut off any immediate reply by yawning and stretching leisurely.

Wedge watched him, feeling a sudden relief at knowing his plan to help Tycho unburden himself had worked. His mind turned to thoughts of arranging the details of Tycho’s conditions and getting his superior officers to agree.

Tycho interrupted by asking. “Do we need to get up yet ?”

Wedge rolled over to look at the chrono on the bedside table. “Not yet; not for another forty minutes.”

“Good.”

Bedclothes rustled and Wedge felt the warmth of Tycho’s body pressed against his back. Tycho slid his arm around Wedge’s waist, enfolding him and holding him close. Warm breath stirred his hair as Tycho whispered in his ear.

“That’s long enough for me to fuck you so hard you won’t be walking straight for a week.”

And Wedge promptly forgot all about Admirals, Generals and security issues for the next forty minutes.


End file.
